


let me make a thing of cream and stars (that becomes, you know the story, simply heaven)

by x_vellichor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Swearing, My First Work in This Fandom, and i almost forgot, don't worry there's a, honestly this degenerates into blatant crackfic by the end, of course constructive criticism is always welcome, please be kind to me, why can Derek not have a happy childhood in any universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_vellichor/pseuds/x_vellichor
Summary: Derek is irritated.To be fair, he's irritated the majority of the time. This time, though, he has good reason. He'd just been overruled by his Council--a calculated subversion of authority orchestrated by his scheming uncle, Peter--and that motion had ensured his inevitable marriage to a human in order to "soothe the growing tension” between the pack and Beacon Hills, a rival royal kingdom whose land borders theirs on three sides.Derek needs something to soothe the growing tension in his head.





	let me make a thing of cream and stars (that becomes, you know the story, simply heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Richard Siken's "Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out". No copyright infringement is intended. I would highly recommend any and all of his poetry.
> 
> Much thanks to MD for enabling me and creating something readable out of the dumpster fire that I presented you with. You’re the best.
> 
> This is my first attempt at posting anything on the Internet; constructive criticism is encouraged, but please be respectful. I hope you enjoy! :)

Derek is irritated.

                To be fair, he’s irritated the majority of the time. This time, though, he has good reason. He'd just been overruled by his own Council not two minutes before—a calculated subversion of authority orchestrated by his scheming uncle, Peter--and that motion had ensured that he is going to marry some _human_ in order to "soothe the growing tension between the pack" and Beacon Hills, the rival royal kingdom whose land borders theirs on three sides.

                Derek needs something to soothe the growing tension in his _head_.

                "Yes, Isaac?" he says tightly, increasing the length of his strides so Isaac has to scramble to keep up.

                "Alpha," Issac bows his head, "I've been sent to inform you that the envoy from Beacon Hills will be arriving...tomorrow."

                Derek stops walking, and Isaac hesitantly pauses alongside him. "Tomorrow?" Derek thunders, eyes flashing red.

                "Y-yes, Alpha," Issac manages, his voice catching in his throat as he involuntarily shrinks away.

                Oh, Derek is going to _kill_ Peter.

 

~~~

 

                To his intense exasperation, Derek finds that Cora is completely unsympathetic to his distress. Why does everyone think this was a good idea?

                "Because it's a useful alliance; we'll be rich, and as a bonus, we avoid the threat of imminent war and hopefully stop their ceaseless persecution of all werewolves," Cora answers primly. Derek frowns. He knows the potential benefits; as Alpha and de facto ruler, it’s his job to be educated on anything and everything that has to do with the pack, and right now, this potential partnership ranks pretty high on the list. "Besides," she adds, "I hear their king is incredibly handsome."

                Derek's scowl deepens. He hates this alliance more with each passing minute.

 

~~~

 

                He knows he has to be there to greet his future husband and future "allies"--the label is sarcastic even in his head--but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

                They have the nerve to be late, which only serves to exacerbate his displeasure. Derek isn’t known for his patience, and his nerves are already stretched thin by the events of the past few days.

                Suddenly, the heavy, embellished doors burst open, revealing a slight, flushed man wearing a ridiculous red velvet ensemble trimmed with ermine that is veritably coruscating, thanks to the plethora of jewels that line the edges.

                Derek hates him on sight.

                The guards that Derek and the Council had assigned to escort him follow a few moments later, also looking slightly winded. The man lifts his shoulders and hands in the universal shrugging gesture for ‘what can you do?’

                "So sorry," he calls breathlessly, sweeping into two deep bows; the first is directed toward Derek, and the second--which he pairs with an alarmingly charming smile--toward Cora. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting." It’s all remarkably informal and nowhere near the degree of ceremony and solemnity that should be displayed at the first meeting between the two royal powers; it certainly doesn’t bode well for their future negotiations.

                Derek opens his mouth to inform the stuck-up prick that he had, in fact, kept them waiting, but Cora speaks first.

                "Not at all," she says graciously, rising from her seat to greet him properly, with a kiss on each cheek. "We're thrilled to have you."

                The man moves to Derek for a handshake, who echoes the sentiment with all the caustic sarcasm he can muster. "Yes, we're just ecstatic," he deadpans, doing his best to convey his murderous intentions through his glare. This really isn’t the kind of first impression he should be making on his betrothed, but he can’t bring himself to care. Just in case the dimwit isn’t getting his message, Derek adds substantial force to the handshake, enough to cause considerable pain to a human.

                To his credit, the man keeps that obnoxious smile pasted on his face, "The pleasure is all mine. I'm looking forward to cementing the details of the alliance."

                At the mention of the alliance, Derek's mood blackens further, and his grip becomes nearly bone-crushing. "I'm sure you are," he says through clenched teeth, forcing himself to release the man's hand before he really does break something.

 

~~~

 

                Things do not improve over the course of the welcome tea. Cora and the man--his name is Mieczyslaw, but he insists they call him Stiles--make pleasant small talk for a while. That’s fine. Cora has always been a better diplomat, anyway. Derek is content to sit there and stew in silence with his tea until Stiles slyly passes the sugar and whispers, "Perhaps this will sweeten your disposition, hubby," with a soft, smug smirk.

                It takes every ounce of his willpower not to smack that smile right off Stiles’ conceited, self-satisfied face. Instead, the saucer he’s holding in his left hand cracks in half, falling to the table with a loud clatter that draws the attention of half the dining hall.

                To Derek's annoyance, Stiles doesn’t even look properly afraid. Curious and a bit awed, perhaps, but Derek detects no fear in his countenance. That’s rare, for a human.

                Derek steadfastly ignores the small part of him that is impressed rather than vexed.

 

~~~

 

                Derek next bumps into Stiles the following day, admiring a portrait of his mother. Rage fills him and colors his vision, white-hot and ugly, but before he can say anything, Stiles asks,

                “Would you be willing to join me for lunch later? I’d really like to get to know my future husband, at some point.”

                Derek is so utterly flabbergasted by this ludicrous request that he can’t even answer, can’t force his mouth to form words, and of course Stiles takes that as a sign of assent.

                “Great,” he plows on, offering Derek one of his bright, deceiving smiles. “I’ll meet you in the dining hall at one.” He _winks—_ the asshole—before whisking around the corner, his cape billowing behind him. Today’s is green, and his brown eyes are so light that the clothing choice almost makes his eyes look hazel.

                It makes Derek want to throw up, and he gets a small amount of perverse satisfaction from imagining Stiles’ reaction to seeing vomit all over one of his precious capes. He wonders if it’s ever happened before—he wouldn’t be surprised. They’re honestly nauseating.

 

~~~

 

                Derek isn’t sure why he actually goes down to meet Stiles. He supposes he’s just curious about what the human has to say.

                He asks a few standard questions about the pack which Derek answers in a bored monotone, and then his eyes light up and he gets a _look_ on his face, part smirk and part curiosity.

                Derek just knows it means trouble.

                “What’s it like?—being a werewolf, I mean.” Stiles asks, smiling as per usual. Of course the kid has no filter, Derek thinks. Of course he has the _nerve_ to ask what it’s like to be one of the creatures his territory is ruthlessly persecuting as they speak, and to _smile_ as he does it.

                Derek feels the fury—the anger that has been simmering and bubbling below the surface since he first heard about the possibility of this stupid alliance—reach a boiling point.

                Then he explodes.

                “Oh. You want to know what it’s like to be a werewolf?” he asks, sneering. His voice is scathing, dripping with nearly tangible sarcasm, and Stiles visibly flinches. _Good_ , he thinks viciously. “Well it’s just fantastic, being hunted every day of your life, wondering how many members of your pack will be dead by sundown.” Stiles’ mouth—normally plush and pink—is a thin, tight line, the only visible indicator of his displeasure. Derek wants to see him squirm. “Shall I continue?”

                When Stiles speaks after a few moments, his voice is surprisingly calm. “I have a council just as you do, y’know,” he says quietly. “I don’t get to make all the decisions, even if the council is blatantly wrong or ignorant. I think you of all people should understand that frustration.” he rises abruptly. “I do offer my sincerest apologies, however, for the admittedly inappropriate and insensitive question.”

                And then he’s gone, and even the dramatic whoosh of his garish orange cape as he turns to leave—the buffoon had changed sometime during the two hours between their conversation and this disaster of a luncheon—doesn’t make Derek want to snicker. He just feels vaguely ill, his stomach twisting with an emotion he recognizes all too well.

                Guilt.

                He sighs, resigned. He’s going to have to make this right. There’s no need to make his future marriage more miserable than it has to be.

 

~~

 

                Derek knocks at the door to Stiles’ quarters, ignoring the disapproving stares from the two guards that flank it.

                “He’s not taking visitors right now, sir,” the guard on the left informs him. Derek ignores him and only knocks harder.

                After a minute, Stiles finally opens the door, and when he sees Derek standing on the other side, he looks like he wants to shut it again. Derek can’t really blame him.

                “May I…come in?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant. He doesn’t want to make things any worse than they already are.

                Stiles studies his face for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose.”

                Derek waves off his offers of tea and biscuits, although he does take the proffered seat. “Stiles, I—“

                “If you’re here because you feel obligated to apologize,” Stiles cuts him off, “it’s unnecessary. I shouldn’t have asked, and your assumptions were fair, your statements accurate. I overreacted.” Derek blinks, a bit taken aback.

                He’d come in expecting Stiles to demand an apology; Derek had thought Stiles would be excited for his borderline groveling, but of course Stiles would surprise him.

                 It’s part of what makes him so infuriating. Every time Derek thinks he has a clear picture of the enigma that is Stiles, he discovers new pieces. It’s remarkably disconcerting.

                Derek considers himself a fairly decent judge of character. He’s quick, ruthless, and cynical, traits he’s learned to cultivate and employ through his early years as a young, vulnerable Alpha with no parents to guide him. Perhaps he’s been a bit _too_ quick to judge this time.

                Instead of outright apologizing—he has the feeling Stiles will refuse him again—he says, “It’s strange. There’s something inside you, and you know you’re stronger, faster than the average human, but it’s oddly normal, because you’ve felt it your whole life. It’s as much a part of you as your arms, your legs, your toes.” Derek pauses to gather his thoughts.

                Speaking eloquently and sharing his ideas coherently aren’t exactly his strong suits. He hopes Stiles can see that he’s trying, reaching out an olive branch the only way he knows how. He risks a glance over, and Stiles is smiling, so he continues, warming to the task. “Most of the time, that part of you is below the surface, safely tucked away, intentionally repressed, because it can be dangerous. We recognize that. But letting it out is like…it’s freedom personified. I imagine it’s what a bird feels when they stretch their wings and take off. You aren’t thinking about the troubles you’ve left behind, just about the sights and the smells and the feel of grass beneath your paws. It’s the most liberating experience there is.”

                “That sounds amazing,” Stiles says, breathless and a little bit wistful, and Derek fixes him with narrowed eyes. “No, really! I’ve always had a fascination with werewolves and the supernatural, much to my father’s dismay.” At that, a shadow falls over his face, and Derek feels instant regret for his part in putting it there.

                Stiles looks lost in thought, and all of a sudden Derek senses that he can be trusted; this strange human, with all the curiosity and boldness to ask the sensitive questions he wants answers to, with a genuine interest in the paranormal and absolutely awful taste in clothing, is as truthful and honorable as a human can be. And so he decides to share.

                “I know you don’t necessarily need or want an explanation, but allow me to offer some justification for my actions,” Derek requests, and Stiles nods, slowly but without suspicion. “When I was quite young, and my sister Cora was just a pup, both of our parents were killed by werewolf hunters as we watched from the shadows.” he stops, recalling the heat of the fire even from a considerable distance, the screams of his mother and the low, pained moans of his father. He attempts a shaky laugh. “It isn’t something you ever recover from. Cora was too young to remember, but I can recall every detail.” They were frequently featured in his nightmares as a child; fortunately, they were rarer now, though sometimes triggered by intense stress or the disappearances of his pack members. “You may have to forgive us if we’re a bit prejudiced against humans. We’re attempting to work on it.”

                Well, he is now, anyway.

                “I know the feeling,” Stiles replies softly. It’s relatively close to lunchtime, really, but suddenly there’s a quality to his voice that’s all midnight honesty. “My mother was killed by an out-of-control werewolf when I was a child, and my father went completely ballistic. He gathered hunting parties that he led himself, offered a reward for anyone who turned in the pelt of a dead werewolf, and assembled the council I have now with members who shared his views on the topic.” he let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “They don’t agree on much else, so we don’t get many of the important things done, but there’s no conceivable way for me to bypass their wishes without dissolving the entire council. Of course, the members are from the rich, prominent families, so it isn’t quite that simple, unfortunately. Hopefully, this alliance will give me the opportunity to force them into peace negotiations.”

                He looks so excited—with his cheeks flushed a pretty pink and eyes shining with unadulterated hope for the future—that Derek can’t help but feel hopeful as well, a warm, foreign feeling sprouting in his chest.

 

~~

 

                They find that they have more in common than tragic childhood memories. Both Derek and Stiles like to begin each day with a walk, and they fall into the habit of doing that together, discussing everything from the paranormal (“Is your silverware…silver?”) to their personal lives (“What’s it like, having siblings? I always hated being an only child.”). Derek is surprised by the breadth and depth of Stiles’ knowledge and inquisitiveness on a variety of topics, and finds he actually looks forward to waking up each morning.

                Derek finds his sarcastic, blunt honesty amusing, his thoughts and ideas intriguing and stimulating, and his enthusiasm and eternal optimism refreshing.

                He’s thinking about a comment Stiles made this morning when Cora taps his arm and murmurs, “I think we should talk.”

                “As you wish,” he answers automatically, guiding them to a secluded corner table and gesturing for tea to be poured.

                Once they’ve been served, Cora asks, “Are you actually falling in love with the human?”

                To the astonishment of himself, Cora, and every servant present, Derek literally spits out the sip of tea he’d been in the process of swallowing.

                “Wha— _huh_ —no!” he splutters, entirely unconvincingly. “This is a loveless, political match, there’s no harm in being friends—“

                Cora tries and fails to hold back her snicker. Her brother doesn’t blush often, but when he does, it’s a deep red that spreads from his ears all the way down to his collarbone. It nearly matches the rich vermilion of the tablecloth. “Your face would beg to differ. I think I know everything that I need to,” she concludes, laughing openly now.

                Derek sighs in defeat. “Is it that obvious?”

                “Der, you actually _smiled_ at him earlier today. _Twice._ ”

                “Cora—“ he threatens, but the faux sternness in his voice is belied by his soft smile.

                “In all seriousness, only if you’re looking, which I have been, and I know you, Derek. You’ve been distracted in meetings, which I originally chalked up to the stress of the alliance agreement and the widespread general unrest, but then something visibly shifted between the two of you, and you started sharing your morning walks, and…well, I put two and two together.”

                “You’ve always been good at addition,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.”

                Cora scoffs. “Oh, please. You didn’t even know until I told you.”

                And there’s some truth to that, because Derek hadn’t really thought the words until she’d said them out loud. _Are you actually falling in love with the human?_ Falling in love with the human. Oh, hell, he was falling in love with a _human_ , the leader of a kingdom that had been his sworn enemy for years _—_

                “Derek. _Derek._ ” Cora rolls her eyes, the wry twist to her mouth indicating this isn’t the first time she’s saying his name. “Breathe, okay? He’s besotted with you too, I promise. Honestly, the two of you are disgusting. “

                “Shut up, Cora,” he mutters, covering his face with his hands to hide his traitorous mouth, which is curving up at the edges.

                “He’s gonna be good for you, Der, if you let him,” she says, and the gentle lilt of her voice is a quiet promise.

 

~~

 

                “You are not wearing hot pink robes on the _very serious day_ where we plan to unite our two warring kingdoms!” Derek says, affectionate and exasperated all at once.

                “It’s the perfect occasion,” Stiles argues. “People want to see opulence and bold fashion. We could match.”

                “Absolutely not, Stiles.”

                “Don’t you ever get tired of wearing black all the time?” Stiles mutters.

                “Don’t you ever feel bad about blinding people with all the gemstones sown to your clothing?” Derek counters.

                Both of them glare at each other for a few more moments before bursting into laughter. Derek can’t remember the last time he really, truly laughed, and he’s suddenly grateful for the idea of the alliance that he had once despised.

                It seems like so long ago that he’d wondered why everyone thought this was a good idea.

                Derek is beginning to see the potential benefits.

**Author's Note:**

> (Fest Mod Note: this work was created for the 2018 Sterek Smooch Fest. Please follow the fest on [LJ](https://sterek-smooch.livejournal.com/) and [TUMBLR](https://sterek-smooch.tumblr.com/) to see the rest of the fabulous creations! Thank you!)


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